


Three times together

by WilwyWaylan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A bit of drama, A bit of sadness, Canon Era, Georges Cuvier (kind of), Implied Character Death, M/M, Modern Era, a bit of cuteness, a bit of reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Three little snippets of Bossuet and Joly.





	Three times together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kujaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/gifts).

> Started when I noticed that les Amis lived just long enough to see Georges Cuvier's death (13th of May 1832). And of course, Joly would be fascinated by his works.

Bossuet ran up the stairs, bounding the steps two by two with an agility coming from a long use. A gust of wind followed him in the hallway, causing a shiver to creep up his back despite his coat. May was promising to be a beautiful month, and June would surely be burning in more than one way, but the cutting wind was still there to remind every Parisian that the cold of winter was still breathing down their necks, and wouldn't be so easily forgotten. Bossuet wanted nothing more than reach Joly's lodgings, where a fire would surely be burning bright. Joly was very sensitive to cold ; for him, the slightest draft was holding every sickness known to mankind, ready to jump at his throat. Bossuet didn't want to disabuse him. Not only would Joly certainly defend his opinion tooth and nail, but him fearing the cold meant that his flat was warm, and he always had a pot of chicory stimming on his stove.

Bossuet skipped along the hallway, cheerfully ignoring the disjointed floorboards that made him trip and the nail near the doorframe that ripped his coat sleeve a little (more). He pushed the door, announcing loudly :

\- Joly-coeur, it's me ! I'm home !

No answer. He threw his coat on the hook beside the door, where Joly's was already hanging, lined his shoes against the wall and stepped into the living-room. Something was boiling alright, but nothing like chicory. Joly's alembic had probably been burning for a moment if he had to judge by the smell. Bossuet blew the flame of the burner out, almost singing his eyebrows. He went to open the window to clear the air a little, before Joly got caught in a new fit of sneezing, when he heard something. Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and came from the bedroom.

Bossuet stepped in the hallway, following more sounds, and glanced in the bedroom. Joly, usually so cheerful, was sitting on his bed, his feet dangling from the mattress. His cane had fallen, or had been thrown on the ground, lying among the books it had knocked over. His back was hunched, unusual for someone who was so careful to not put too much strain on his spine, his elbows planted on his thighs and his chin resting on his balled fist. And he was... crying ? Sniffling. And there were tear tracks on his cheeks. As Bossuet watched, unsure of what to do, he lifted a hand, wiped his eye, then resumed his position.

Bossuet immediately went to sit beside him, and put an arm he hoped comforting around Joly's shoulders. The doctor's back tensed a little. But they were so accustomed to live together, that he recognized his friend without even looking at him, and leaned against him a little.

\- Joly coeur ? Bossuet asked, rubbing Joly's back in a comforting manner. Did something happen ?

\- Yes, Joly answered in a sob. It's... he's...

Bossuet's mind immediately reviewed every possibility. Did something happen to one of their friends ? Not Grantaire, he had just left the cynic happy and a little drunk at a table, nothing could have happened to him that Joly could have learnt before him. But they still had many friends who were quite reckless in their occupations. Especially some of them. Did something happen to Bahorel, did he pick a fight with the wrong person ? Or did the police finally manage to prove Enjolras' activities ? It could even have been Combeferre, one was never safe from an accident during an anatomy lesson, Joly's fingers were proof of that.

\- He who ? he asked, trying to keep his tone even. Did something happen to the others ?

Joly shook his head. Ah. So the other Friends were safe. That was good to hear. But still, Joly was sad, and that was something Bossuet couldn't live with.

\- So what happened ? He insisted gently.

\- It's... it's... Monsieur Cuvier.... He passed away.

It took Bossuet a few seconds to remember who Joly was talking about. Of course, he wasn't as fascinated as his friend by the emerging new science Joly discovered last year. All that talk about old creatures that were supposed to have roamed the Earth and had disappeared centuries before sounded to him a little strange, and he knew some people found it... heretical. As for himself, he didn't really mind ; after all, they were all for the enlightenment of people, but trying to know all the secrets in the universe didn't really tempt him. But Joly and Combeferre seemed to find that new knowledge extremely fascinating, and had been reading and discussing it at length for several months now. Joly had been especially delighted, and had read everything on the subject, particularly that Monsieur Cuvier had written, scribbling comments and questions in the margins to ponder with Combeferre later.

So like the good friend he was, Bossuet held him a little closer. He could try to find some words of consolation, try to comfort him by telling him that Monsieur Cuvier was now in Heaven and free of all pain, or even try to change his mind, but he didn't. Joly had a right to feel upset by the passing of someone he had a lot of admiration for. Trying to divert his attention or cheer him up would maybe work, but Bossuet would feel like he would lessen his friend's feelings. So he let him cry, offering his presence and support. his arms wound up around Joly's slight frame, holding him as close as possible.

After a handful of minutes, the sobs finally receded. Joly sat up a little straighter, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He didn't make a move to get apart from Bossuet, and Bossuet kept holding him, stroking his hair. Now was the good time to

\- Do you want to tell me about his works ?

Joly's lips quirked up a little. It was a meagre smile, but a smile none-the-less, and Bossuet's heart felt a little lighter Without getting out of the embrace, his friend stretched enough to catch a book among a pile of others. The page he opened it to was covered with drawings of bones that Bossuet didn't understand at all, but he kept Joly close and diligently listen to him tell him about fossils and old creatures that didn't exist any more.

~*~

The night had put an end to the fight, and the ringing of the cannons had finally stopped, giving way to a silence almost deafening. It was only a respite, a lull brought by the night, that would break at the first ray of sun. And it would all start again, the fights, the gunshots, and sooner or later, the deaths of everyone taking part in the protest. Maybe some of them still had hope, Enjolras certainly did, and he wasn't the only one, to make a change, in a way or another. Others at least hoped to get out of this alive. But in Bossuet's opinion, their chances were very slim. Many of them had already fallen, and the promise claimed by their red flag made their survival hard to believe.

He walked to where Joly was perched on a table, at the far end of the barricade, trying to examine his tongue at the light of a candle, and sat beside him. Joly put his mirror back in his pocket, and with a sigh, leaned against Bossuet, who laid an arm on his shoulders.

\- It doesn't look very bright, he admitted, almost to himself.

Bossuet was tempted to make a pun about the darkness that came with the night, but he abstained. This clearly wasn't the time or place. So instead, he answered :

\- I know.

Joly looked up, at the stars above them, between the dark shapes of the roofs.

\- Do you think...? he asked.

His voice died down on his words, but Bossuet didn't need them to understand the question betraying his fears, because the same were gnawing at his mind. He could lie, of course, tell him that they would manage to break free at the last second, that their revolution would be a success, but he didn't have the energy to do so. He felt tired, and disgusted. There had already been so much blood shed, so many deaths, friends or foes... Was it all worth it ? Of course, it was, it was a matter of freedom, something way bigger than their little lives, something that could affect thousands and thousands of people. But right now, as they tried to grab some rest before the fight resumed, the weariness of the day weighting on their shoulders, the cuts and scraps lighting a thousand burns, a dull ache in his arm where a large stone splinter had hit him, it didn't really look that way. Freedom would never taste as good as it could have had anyway, not without Jehan, and Bahorel, and all the ones who wouldn't be there to see it.

\- I don't know, he sighed.

\- It doesn't really look good for us... Joly added.

\- Not really....

They watched the stars in silence for a few moments.

\- Are you scared ? Joly asked suddenly.

Was he ? Yes, of course. Anyone would be scared when faced with the possibility of death looming over them. He didn't pride himself in being the bravest, far from it. He really wanted to, to don the face of the brave knight, but he couldn't. Not when he was tired, and in pain, and Joly sounded so meek and small.

\- Maybe... maybe a little, yes, he admitted. You ?

\- Yes... I mean... do you think it will hurt ? Also, I don't know what is awaiting us. I mean... after.

Bossuet carefully sidestepped the first question. He really, really didn't want to think about it. Of course it would. With any luck, it would be fast. With not... well he didn't want to dwell on it. Better think about something better.

\- What do you think is awaiting us ? he asked instead.

Well, so much for finding another subject, but Joly didn't mind, taping his nose with his cane while he mused about it.

\- I don't know, really... Do you think there's a Heaven ? What does it look like ? Is it, you know, like on paintings and such, some kind of endless clouds ? Would we float above Earth ?

\- I hope not ! Bossuet exclaimed. That would be so boring, floating around without anything to do !

\- Even with.... the others ?

\- I would love to spend eternity with you, you know it (Joly blushed) but... can you imagine the others being so... inactive ? Bahorel, floating around ? And Enjolras ?

\- Right... maybe Heaven is something else ? Maybe it's just what we want to do, for all eternity, without pain or illness or...

\- I can see Enjolras' special heaven from here, Bossuet chuckled. A giant barricade in the sky, and him on top, with a flag in each hand, winning the revolution by sheer force of will.

Joly laughed a little, but his expression soon turned serious again. Of course it would remind him of the current situation, and Bossuet bit his tongue to chastise himself. Quickly, he added :

\- But imagine ! We could find every deceased person in the world, up there ! You could... (he searched for a good example) you could even meet Cuvier !

Joly's entire face lightened up, and he turned to face Bossuet.

\- Right ! Do you think he's in Heaven ? And do you think he'd like to talk about all his discoveries and studies ?

\- I'm sure he would.

\- Because I have so many things I would like to discuss with him ! There are things in his [...] I'm not sure I agree with. You see, when he talks about the Ichtyosaurus being related to the crocodile...

Bossuet leaned back against a rafter, still holding Joly against him, and listened to him go on and on about fossils. The whole time his friend talked, he didn't think about their upcoming fate at all.

~*~

For the tenth time, Bossuet patted his pockets, looking for the cellphone he knew wasn't here, hoping against all hope that it would have miraculously materialized out of sheer will. But no, it was still laying somewhere in his flat, under a pile of socks or a few books, not sensible to his plight. And of course, count on him to forget his keys on the day he didn't have any way to call Grantaire to his help.

He walked along the path of the Jardin des Plantes, trying to think of a way to spend the next three hours, until his friend could come and open their door for him. The Ménagerie ? No, he knew it, and it wasn't fun without Grantaire to make faces at the animals. The Great Gallery of Evolution ? They would probably glare him out of the building. They probably didn't forget that regretful incident with the glass case last time he visited. It wasn't his fault someone stepped on his shoelace and sent him headfirst into the glass, but maybe he shouldn't have reacted with anger to realize only then that he had called the conservator a "mushy-brained monkey". So no stuffed animals for him.

He could have gone out of the Garden, of course, try his luck at finding a distraction somewhere else, but he perfectly knew how it always went : he'd look for something, a bar or a shop or something to look at, and then spot something better, and then something else, and soon he would be horribly lost, and would never be able to go home, condemned to a life of wander... or at least ask for directions to people who wouldn't be able to help. And he'd be home well past dinnertime. No, better to stay in the Garden. But what to do ?

He had reached the end of the alley, and was ready to go back on his tracks, where he spotted the Anatomy and Palaeontology Gallery on his right. Oh, why not ? He wasn't banned from it yet, and if bones weren't his favourite thing in the world, they were still quite interesting, and would certainly keep him busy for an hour or two, and then he could go home and wait for Grantaire on the doorstep like a giant found kitten.

He paid his ticket (luckily, his wallet didn't betray him like his cellphone did) and went inside, enjoying the caress of conditionned air on his skin. He followed the alleys, looking at the displays, marveling at the smallest skeletons that looked like lace, and the biggest ones which looked like they could break their support beams. He made faces at the grouper inside the farthest case, but it wasn't as fun when you were on your own, and some people were starting to look at him weirdly. Grantaire would love it, he thought, admiring the giant skeleton of a crocodile. He should bring him there, they could have lots of fun comparing those skulls to their professors and make them talk and all the stuff they usually did when they were out together.

The collection was impressive, but it couldn't hold his attention forever, and still, it wasn't time to go home yet. Well, there were still two whole stories full of bones. Why not check them too. He climbed the stairs, stopping on the balcony to admire the view of thousands and thousands of skeletons that seemed to be walking in the same direction, and reached the second floor.

Ah. Dinosaurs. Even better than whales. Of course, he didn't have Grantaire to trade quotes from Jurassic Park with, but he could still hum the theme under his breath while he admired them. And surely, he did, as he followed a giant crocodile skeleton to the end of the room. At least it wasn't that crowded up there, and no one could glare at him for it. In fact, he was alone in that part of the large room.

He spotted a bench near the wall. Good, as fun as dinosaurs were, he was feeling a little tired after all this pacing outside and walking inside. A bit of rest would do him some good. He dropped on the bench, and it was there and then that he realized that he was wrong : he wasn't alone with the dinosaurs. A boy was sitting at the end of the bench, before hidden behind a Carnotaurus. More or less his age, with thin brown hair falling on his forehead. Maybe cute, but he was currently hunched over a notebook and scribbling furiously, his pencil almost hitting his nose in its frantic pattern. Bossuet still noticed the scarf looped at least three times around his neck, the multicoloured stripes giving an almost stroboscopic effect. He was even wearing assorted mittens. Maybe he feared the cold air blowing on them. Bossuet was rather welcoming it, it was quite hot under the glass roof, but maybe he was cold. Or something. Not that it was any of his business, of course.

Bossuet looked at the dinosaurs in front of him, but if they were very interesting to see while walking, they failed at catching his interest when he was immobile (and them too). So he found his eyes darting to the boy at his right. There was something... he didn't quite put his finger on it, but he couldn't really help himself. The boy wasn't pretty like the one Grantaire was always drawing in his (not-really) secret sketchbook. That one was so beautiful looking at him was like trying to watch the sun, blinding and terrifying. No, the one on the bench was... cute, yes, he was, for what Bossuet could see. He was blowing on his hair from time to time to push it aside, with absolutely no effect except that giving him an adorable expression. Nervous, too, probably, seeing as his pencil was bitten all along. But still, that didn't give him the slightest idea of why he couldn't take his eyes away.

Suddenly, the boy put his pencil away and snapped his book shut. It was only then that he noticed that he wasn't alone. His eyes widened in an almost comical way when he looked at Bossuet. Who should have found it funny, but his expression probably was as exaggerated as the boy's. He suddenly felt very hard to breath, despite the air still blowing on him. The boy had green eyes, with long eyelashes and a beauty mark under the right one, and something in them that held him captive. Bossuet could swear that the gallery was almost silent, with only hushed voices and a discreet motor sound around them, but his ears were ringing with

(screams)

(gunshots)

(and the cannon, oh God, they have the -)

faint noises that didn't have their place here. He could feel something burning around his right shoulder, and his elbow felt stiff like something had hit him very hard. And there was a smell, too, something heavy, charred wood maybe. Something that didn't fit with the atmosphere. It probably hit the boy too, his eyes so large Bossuet could see the white all around them. He had to say something, he needed to, now, but he was afraid that whatever was lurking in the air around them would slide inside him, eat him from the inside out. It had the power to destroy him, whatever it was, tear him apart, break his mind in a thousand pieces.

Finally, he managed to croak :

\- You are.... we...

Meaningless words, but they seemed to reach the boy, who nodded. And suddenly, with that, everything, the noise, the pain in his arm, disappeared. There was just the gallery left, with its dusty smell, and the air still blowing on their faces, and them. Bossuet blinked several times to make sure it wasn't an illusion again. But the world stayed solid around them.

\- What was that ? he asked.

The boy looked around, even upwards to be sure.

\- I... don't know. But that sure was weird.

Bossuet nodded. It only lasted two seconds, but it felt _so real_. He had heard what sounded like a brawl, and he had tasted the blood in his mouth. He had felt the pain ; and the stone, the wood under his fingers had felt so real, as real as the fake leather he was sitting on.

\- It felt....

He wanted to verbalize what happened, he really wanted, but what kind of words could you put on that kind of experience ?

\- Like a memory, the boy offered.

\- A memory ?

\- Yes. Something we've lived in the past. People can sometimes, in the right condition, experiment a resurgence of a past life, and it can feel really, really real.

\- You think this is what happened ?

\- Maybe ?

Bossuet mulled on it for a few seconds.

\- You call it the right conditions. Do you think this would be it ? The gallery ? The dinosaurs ? (the boy cracked a smile that sent a weird resonance in Bossuet's very core) The atmosphere ? Or us....

He didn't want to add "meeting there", like in some kind of romance novel with a very cliché plot. But still...

\- Maybe, the boy said with a nod. Maybe.... we were there. There at that place. In the fight. Together.

Bossuet's heart gave a small hitch. Maybe just at the idea that something awful happened during one of his past lives.

\- Together ? he repeated, trying to keep his breath even.

\- I don't know ? But that resurgence happened when you sat there, so... so maybe... maybe we met in another life ! And we only remembered when....

"When we locked eyes", Bossuet wanted very much to answer, but he refrained. No need to sound like this right now, not when he barely knew the boy and something too ridiculously romantic-sounding could scare him away. Because he didn't want to scare him away, he realized in a split second. He wanted to keep talking with him, about this, or about anything else. Maybe he was right, maybe there was something between them, that tied them together, or had tied them at one point in their existences. Whatever that was, he very much wanted to know him better, and learn what that something could be.

\- Do you think, he tried, we could find a place where to find some good coffee ? I really need one, and I'd love to hear a bit more about resurgences, and past lives.

There was a second of silence, during which the boy seemed to ponder about the offer and whether it was a joke. Finally he nodded.

\- That sounds fine. I'm Joly, by the way. Augustin Joly.

\- Etienne Lesgles. My friend calls me "Eagle", because, you know...

He gestured vaguely. Joly smiled at the pun, pulling a little more at his heart. He grabbed a cane that was before hidden against his leg, and used it to get up. The wood was scratched, covered in colorful stickers ; the pommel was a Tyrannosaurus skull. Once again, something pulled at Bossuet's heart, a bit harder. Not just the feeling of being near a cute boy who wanted to spend time with him, but something deeper, harder, something like a longing, like nostalgia of something gone for a long time. Something that pulled him towards the boy, something he couldn't resist, and didn't want to. They started walking towards the exit. It wasn't exactly silence around them, there were other people in the gallery, but it made Bossuet feel nervous that Joly wasn't talking any more. He wasn't angry, of course. Why would he be ? But still, he didn't like it.

\- Do you come here often ? he blurted, desperate for a topic.

Great, now he sounded like the lead of the romantic book he wanted to avoid. But Joly didn't seem to mind, or he just found it amusing rather than creepy.

\- A lot ! I love coming here. Not just here, of course, not in the dinosaur wing, even if I really love them. Dinosaurs are fascinating. But I love coming here in the Garden.

\- I do, too !

Bossuet couldn't help his own smile to widen as Joly's did.

\- What part do you like here, beside this gallery ?

\- Oh, I love the Gallery of Evolution. Not only do they have a whole stuffed whale (Bossuet nodded), but the buildings are really, really old. Did you know that they date back to the XIXth century, and that they were called Cuvier's Gardens at first ? Cuvier had the main building built, and then...

He kept talking about the buildings, and Bossuet listened. It was soothing, in a way, almost familiar. Somewhere during the walk between the giraffes and the monkeys, he grabbed Joly's hand, almost instinctively. Instead of balking, or pushing him away, Joly squeezed his hand back, without stopping talking. They walked out hand in hand, their steps falling in a familiar pattern, rythmed by Joly's cane on the tiles, as they did all those years ago.


End file.
